A joke about how that wasn’t her family’s part of the trade sat on the tip of his tongue, but Sol bit it back. Humor wasn’t enjoyable if it was at someone else’s expense.
“I trust you,” he said instead. And wonder of wonders, he did. Despite, well, everything.
“You shouldn’t,” she muttered. “You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged again. “But you’ll recall, last time we disagreed over what I knew or didn’t know, or what I was capable of, I seem to remember that I came out on top.” He scratched the back of his head as if pondering. “There was some money involved, I believe, perhaps a wager—”
“It was a draw. And you were certainly not on top of… oh, all right.” She near growled the words, waving her hands in clear frustration. “I’ll come in, but only because it’ll be useful to my endeavors.”
Sol bit back a grin, and indicated below. “Meet me by the door just around the corner in two minutes,” he told her. He barely waited for her nod before he was padding, as quickly and as quietly as he could, down the back staircase. Cracking the entrance open, he beckoned her inside. Without a single word of thanks, she reached up and kissed the only mezuzah his brother hadn’t removed from the house, before following him inside, her hood now back over her head.
Pulling the door closed behind her, he ran a hand through his close-cut hair. He didn’t have a plan, did he? Not what to do with her nor how to keep her hidden in a way that wouldn’t cause trouble for him or Frederick.
Heart pounding against his ribs, he forced himself to think.
All right, first get her away from any possible encounters with the servants. He trusted them, but good gossip was good gossip, and this would no doubt be the best sort. Which left… his personal rooms.
Of all the inappropriate places… not that he could say that, of course, especially after her continual digs at his age and maturity, or lack thereof.
Instead, he inclined his head for her to follow him back up the stairs. She frowned again, before shrugging in agreement. He ushered her inside his chambers, taking a last check at the empty hall before closing the door behind them. She spun around to face him, lines popping on her brow.
“Are we—is this your bedchamber?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth from the bed to him, before giving him a rather knowing half smile. Or more, given the way she seemed to operate, a testing one.
Well, he would pass. She would not frighten or goadhim into… whatever she wanted him to do. Probably into proving all the irksome assumptions she’d made about him. If she thought that was going to happen, she had another think coming to her.
Head held high, Sol retreated to the sitting area near the fire and indicated one of the chairs. She shook her head in the negative and instead rubbed her elbows.
“I couldn’t just take you into the main parlor,” he said, taking his own seat, crossing one leg over the other as she moved to the fire, rubbing her hands together, the light making the strands of hair that had come loose from their holdings glow.
“Why not?” she asked, spinning around to face him again, her tone genuinely curious, and her large eyes wide and inquisitive.
The question was so sincere that it took him by surprise.
“My brother wouldn’t like it,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “He’s courting a gentile woman and…” He rubbed his neck, cursing in his head. He was supposed to be charming, damn it. And good with conversation.
“And he has a reputation to protect. Wouldn’t want him to be—What do the gentiles call it?—‘ruined’ in some way, would we?” Hannah’s lips curved into a rueful smile before she pursed them in a small pout. “Can men be ruined?” She paced, tapping her chin. “I suppose if it was possible, it would certainly apply to our men—no matter how much you dress like or resemble them. And I would definitely say that I’m the type to ruin reputations, in our community and outside.” She gave a derisive sniff. “A very sound decision on your part then, bringing me up here.”
Sol stared at her.
“I—it isn’t like that,” he tried, raising a hand to her.
“What is it like, then?” She cocked her head and squinted at him in clear skepticism.
“Um, it’s me, not you,” he offered with a half shrug, the phrase sounding even more inadequate out loud.
“Oh?” Hannah’s lip curled in amusement once more. “So you’re disreputable?” And now there was a distinct twinkle in her eye.
His belly warmed and he matched her expression. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m more…” He sought for the right words to name the problem he’d become despite his best intentions.
“More what?” she asked, her cloak swirling as she turned around, inspecting the room instead of holding his eye.
“A bit too Jewish for the gentiles, I suppose, despite being a touch lacking in Jewish knowledge and practice. Though I’ve been enjoying changing that.” Something he’d have to pause, he reflected sadly. At least until Frederick’s marriage was secure. He dug his thumb into his palm. “Especially now, with my new position at Lira and Berab and its close ties to the community. While useful for our purses…” he said as she ran her hand over the marble edge of the fireplace. “It’s made that aspect of me, and by extension Frederick, harder for certain gentiles to ignore.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “So where does that leave you?”
“Trying to be on my best behavior.” He rubbed the short hairs on the back of his neck as she palmed the books he’d left next to his chair—Smith, Malthus, what he should be reading, as well as the slim volume byKeats he preferred. Nothing particularly embarrassing, nor particularly interesting. “Going out less. Certainly not to the opera or gaming halls or making appearances at gentile dinner parties and balls.”
“Do you like going to those places?” she asked.
